


Iris and Everything After- b l o o d

by freezinginbristol



Series: new york to toronto // america + canada // FACE [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Gen, Violence, breaking stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6604849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freezinginbristol/pseuds/freezinginbristol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had their own reference points, that was true. But with the dream and nightmare that was history and their lives always around the corner, find themselves closer at times then they would admit. She was his Iris and him, well, everything after she supposed. "I think I made you up inside my head."<br/>2/?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iris and Everything After- b l o o d

She doesn't even remember what started in the first place.

Another long day filled with word and words and words and meetings and disagreements and it bleeds into evening when she's arguing with him about something probably not even necessary.

_Coward._

_Weak_

_Good for nothing god I hate you so much sometimes why are you even in my life at all-_

At any rate her fist collides with his face, and the satisfaction of feeling his bone give way underneath her is an unnatural high. America swears, dropping his bag on the floor in the front of his living room and he moves backwards, barely managing to duck at her heels flings through the air at his head.

He moves forward then, blocking her arm and grabbing her wrist, twisting the appendage behind her back which she hisses through her teeth at the feeling. Canada's head reels back, catching her brother in his mouth and loosening his grip. She hears the crunch underneath her feet at his glasses on the floor.

Like he even needed them.

America's foot shoots out then to collide with her stomach, sensing her backwards onto the floor where he moves, pinning her wrists down and sneering close to her face. He notes the blood running from her left nostril and barely feels the injury mirrored in his own body. Madeline's head moves up, teeth snapping on empty air before he moves his face away, letting go of one arm before bending his knee on top of it and grasping her chin.

"Look at that, the creature's angry isn't she?"

"Better a creature than a product of the times, you capitalist piece of shit."

He laughs at that, something slightly strained before she rips her arm out of his grip and grabs the material of his tie, tugging sharply. As his body jerks forward, she sets her feet under his stomach and pushes, sending him off of her and onto the hard floor before she switches their previous positions, hands now secured tightly around his neck, only slightly squeezing.

"I've knocked you out before, Alfred," she practically spits his name and when he smirks her grip tightens, and from the looseness of his collar she can feel his pulse underneath her fingertips, "I sure as hell don't have a problem with doing it again."

"And what exactly," his hands come up and wrap around her wrists, moving up slightly before hosting her weight up and over his head before he's on his feet, looking down at her, "is stopping you from doing so?"

Ten minutes and they've almost destroyed most of downstairs.

His back collides amongst broken glass and she's hurling saucers at his head before he gets up and charges, catching her by the waist and slamming her back against the wall. Her knee comes up between his legs and he swears, hand coming up to collide with her face, and bruises are spread forming on her neck from where he tried to strangle her in the living room.

Her nails rake down the skin exposed by the rips and tears in his shirt, ignoring the hiss that rips through his teeth at her actions before another punch is aimed at her stomach and she kicks his shin in response.

"Queen of peace isn't looking so contrite now?"

He drawing out her agression, for both them really, that's been pushed down over months and months and months and she snaps at his face, mouth curled in a bloodstained snarl.

"Like you're any better, Superman?" She laughs as he slams the back of her head against the wall. "Just like you to be using me to get your fix."

America sneers, leaning closer to press his forehead against hers before the words are spat out. "I doubt that little piece of Québécois shit could even reach the highs I give you-"

Her knee collides between his legs again and she manages to push him off her and moving out of his destroyed kitchen with him on her heels.

The bullet seems to graze his shoulder before she's turned around, hands reloading the weapon without taking her eyes off of him.

He smiles at her actions, she notes, rolling up the material of his sleeves with that million dollar smile she still hasn't managed to wipe off his smug face.

Bastard.

The next bullet hits into the side of his abdomen, the flower of crimson blooming underneath the white of his shirt. America glares, knowing he'll end up needing some assistance to fix that up. His hand comes away, stained with red and he wipes it off on the side of his pants.

"No fair, Maddie." he says.

Canada scoffs, barrel still pointed at her siblings even when he comes closer and smirks again with that infuriating look of his.

One hand comes up and yanks the glasses off of her face, her own eyes adjusting fairly quickly, before tossing them aside.

"You think you're doing me a favor?" he asks, fingers moving to the back of her head and yanking out the already falling apart bun of hair.

"I know it. Largest, longest," she breathes, her own hand coming up behind his head and she feels him stiffen at her nail pressing into the scar along the back his neck, "and _unblocked border in the world_ and yet you seem to think I can't hear the stuff that goes on in your head?" The barrel of gun is cold against his heart from where she has it pressed. "You think I could just ignore it?"

America rolls his eyes. " I don't suppose you'd enjoy trading places with the asshole of the world. I'm not apologizing for anything with you."

"I don't expect you to. I would expect some fucking self restraint once in a while, instead of this save everyone need you've had since Abraham-"

The feeling of her head cracking back against a mirror is nothing to be surprised at, and he ignores the sharper pain of the barrel against his chest.

She laughs at the pain, teeth flashing in the light of his house. "You don't think it's true?" she spits out, and his grip on her chin tightens.

"Truth didn't need to be said. I didn't need you to-"

"Oh you didn't? I saved you after everything. Who else can say that? Kept my mouth shut after Virginia because I knew what they would do. And yet you still have this need to fight, this need to purge out everything you hate about yourself onto the world and you don't think it gets to me? _No fucking way, flyboy."_

The broken glass crunches underneath their feet for a few moments before he speaks.

"You giving me a choice?" His hand grabs her own wrist holding the gun, feeling her pulse underneath his fingers.

Even in their own chaos they were together.

"Fine. You want to play?" he asks, and the gun is somehow out of her hand and in his, aimed point blank as the side of her mouth quirks up at him.

_"Let's play."_

* * *

The staring seemed to be a constant.

Even in the bright open diner, the heaviness of their parents' gazes do not go unnoticed, but they relax at her exclamation of him dropping bits of her bacon on the floor for the polar bear underneath the table to eat and his excuses in a rolling of French before she tries to bite him.

England only sighs and goes back to his newspaper, muttering under his breath about "since they were colonies," or some other parental voice that goes ignored by his children.

France sends a sharp kick to the American's shin, and he drops the lock of hair he had been tugging on his sister's scalp before his papa's blue eyes flicker down to the remnants of black and blue on his son's knuckles and then in turn the very faint line of a scar along Madeline's temple.

Old habits died hard- regardless of generation.

"Rough weekend, vous deux?" He asks, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of coffee.

It's with the second stealing of bacon that she finally hits him, and he presses his lips against her temple in apology before violet eyes flicker to meet blue across the table.

"Something like that."


End file.
